Voting and Poetry

I haven't updated in a while, but for those of you still hanging around here is something to read. Yesterday I voted for the first time. I sat on my bed and dutifully filled in the little circles. It felt like I was taking a test to which no one has the answers. There was no surge of powerful feelings when I was finished and I certainly did not feel like more of an adult as some of my friends have. Ever since I studied government in my elementary years and discovered that the President is elected not by the popular vote, but by the electoral, I considered it a waste of time to fill out a ballot. Other than instilling fear in your representative of what will happen if they don't vote with the majority, what use is it? It tells us who the voting portion of the country thinks should be President but it has no real power to elect because, technically, the electors can vote for whomever they want. They generally don't, but it has happened. Anyway...

In my creative writing class, we are in the genre of poetry, the one I was most dreading. I have never professed to be a poet and dread writing the stuff so much that I don't even attempt it on my own. Irregardless, I am still expected to do the assignments. So if you would like to see what my creative (or not) genius has produced, read on.

Sound/Image Poetry:
With this category we listened to a piece of classical music and looked at a famous photograph of a shooting in Vietnam and then had to write a response piece of poetry to each. They didn't have to be explicitly related to either one and mine weren't. They simply needed to express what you felt and/or thought of when experiencing those sounds and images.

It's a warm room
with love everywhere.
It's a dim room
with low, yellow light.
It's a cozy room
with rough, comfy couches.
It's a soft room
with a black-bellied stove.
It's a country room
with wintry paintings.
It's a musical room
with classical notes.
It's a stately room
with a grandfather clock.
It's an open room
with large, paned windows.
It's a familiar room
with me in the midst.
It's a family room
with a feeling of Christmas.

____________

Imperfectly I love
So perfectly I fear

My capacity for change
Shrinks with every cringe.

Born not of punishment
Contemptibly of pain

Flawlessly He loves
So incredulous my fear.

Word Group Poems:
We were also given a choice of two groups of four words and we had to choose one set and use all four words in a poem. The first one has to use the words mother, folds, hands, and twilight. We had a day to do it. The second one was produced in class in less than five minutes and had to use evil, good, control, and choice. I'm not so fond of that one but I don't do well under pressure for creative stuff.

Night falling finds me scattered from the day,
Of things no one has taught me how to face;
But in she comes, my mother, here to do
That thing which only motherhood know how--
Smoothing out the wrinkles, binding up the tears,
And folding up the pieces that are me,
Gently with her hands, then I am whole.
Off she goes until another day
Has done its damage and I wish,
"Come Twilight, come once again."

Who controls who?
Who controls you?
Good has evil,
Evil has a choice,
But choice has lost control.

Ballads:
We also had to write an original ballad. After looking at one about the titanic, I decided to do one on the Oregon Trail since I knew that slightly better. People got really creative with these. I was impressed with the wide range of stories.

And the dust rolled in like a mighty wave,
The water rose up to take us away,
We held on to hope and tried to be brave,
But the trail said, "No, you won't find your way."

We struck camp at Independence
With families spread far as the eye could see,
Waiting like prisoners for their sentence
And looking for mules to make a team.

The air burned every last drop of moisture,
Drying us out 'til we cracked;
While suffocation, haunting each breath,
Reminded us of everything we lacked.

And the dust rolled in like a mighty wave,
The water rose up to take us away,
We held on to hope and tried to be brave,
But the trail said, "No, you won't find your way."

Ice-capped mountains loomed up in the distance,
Dampness rotted us outside, then in,
Cold gnawed on my fingers and bit at my nose,
Slowly wearing me down to give in.

The Reeper swept in while we watched,
His brazenness hard to believe;
He snatched her up in a fit of coughing;
That my sister is gone, I can barely conceive.

And the dust rolled in like a might wave,
The water rose up to take us away,
We held on to hope and tried to be brave,
But the trail said, "No, you won't find your way."

Six months, three days, and one minute later
We're here and we've finally stopped walking,
The houses are built; there's food in the ground
And yet, the trail is still mocking.

And the gloom rolls in like a mighty wave,
Our sunshine is gone, yet we still have to stay,
Hope has got us this far, but it's hard to be brave,
The trail's at an end, but we're still on our way.

Found Poems:
Our most recent poetry assignment was the most fun. For found poems you take words and phrases from other people and string them together to make an original poem. We were given a stack of a bunch of different magazines and told to go through them and grab stuff and make a poem. I got a literary magazine and this is what resulted...

Take the poet who lives in poverty and eats grass;
Maybe that's it.
Is there anything so helpless?
That poet should have written like somebody else
It is a fascinating idea.
Is it holy?
Is it boring?
And what about poets who don't want to smash people's heads?
As if there could be a world of absolute innocence

Hope you enjoyed it!

Haunted

Yes, Steph and I are being haunted...by demon wasps. I swear, they prey on our fear and enjoy tormenting us. If you find this incredulous, read on. During the final week of school last semester, Steph and I started finding wasps in our room. There would be one or two a day, but we couldn't figure out how they were getting in. We checked for holes in the walls and screens and looked for nests outside the window. There was nothing. And it was only our room! Both of us are terrified of the things, though me probably more so. Steph is content to watch them buz around from across the room as long as they don't get near her. However, this might have something to do with the fact that they usually appeared on my side. I can't stand to be in the same vicinity as a wasp, yellow jacket, bee, or anything other stinging, flying creature of that kind. I have to find someone else to kill it before I can have any peace. By the end of that week, the poor girls on my floor automatically grabbed a shoe and begin heading for our room when they saw me scampering down the all from it in terror.

Like I said, this happened the last week of school, so we didn't really feel the need to deal with it since we were switching dorms for the next semester. Well, guess what. A few days ago, with the warm weather, wasps started appearing in our room. They followed us!!! Yet again, we can't find how they are getting in or why it's just our room. Only this time, we are putting in a work order to get someone to come look at the problem because I am really tired of being chased out of my room by a thing less than two inches long. Luckily, Ali doesn't mind killing them, but Steph and I have devised a new method of disposing of them which is quite effective--we vacuum them up. I've always been a fan of cold weather, but now I am practically begging God for a good, hard frost to put an end to all flying insects.

Sharing an assignment with you

My creative writing professor assigned us to find two paragraphs from different sources that exemplified some of the best creative non-fiction we've ever read. My choices were from two books that I currently have with me at school. The first is an essay so it can be debated as to whether it is creative. I chose it because I think it's good philosophy and good writing. The author is currently my favorite philosopher and I wrote a critique of this essay last semester for my final paper in my philosophy and literature class. I found her theories to be quite applicable since her topic is "the good life" and her question is "What is the best way to live?" She compares the mediums of philosophy and literature for dealing with this question and believes that something vital has been lost by seperating these two. Ok, I will stop rambling on about philosophy; here is the quote.

"This is after all, the spirit in which much of great literature has been and is written and read. We do approach literature for play and for delight, for the exhilaration of following the dance of form and unraveling webs of textual connection. But one of the things that makes literature something deeper and more central for us than a complex game, deeper even than those games, for example chess and tennis, that move us to wonder by their complex beauty, is that it speaks like Strether. It speaks about us, about our lives and choices and emotions, about our social existence and totality of our connections. As Aristotle observed, it is deep, and conducive to out inquiry about how to live, because it does not simply (as history does) record that this or that event happened; it searches for patterns of possibility--of choice, and circumstance, and the interaction between choice and circumstance--that turn up in human lives with such a persistence that they must be regarded as our possibilities. And so our interest in literature becomes cognitive: an interest in finding out what possibilities (and tragic impossibilities) life offers to us, what hopes and fears for ourselves it underwrites or subverts." - from "Perceptive Equilibrium: Literary Theory and Ethical Theory" by Martha Nussbaum

My second choice actually has two paragraphs from the same book because they are equally beautiful, I think, and though only separated by a page, I was too lazy to type up all of the connecting information.

"I have been wondering this summer why our love has seemed, deeper, tenderer than ever before. It's taken us twenty-five years, almost, but perhaps at last we are willing ot let each other be; as we are; two diametrically opposite human beings in many ways, which has often led to storminess. But I think we are both learning not to chafe at the other's particular isness. This is the best reason I can think of why ontology is my word for the summer.
A Russian priest, Father Anthony, told me, "To say to anyone 'I love you' is tantamount to saying 'You shall live forever.' "
I am slowly beginning to learn something about immortality."

"Suddenly I said, 'Hey, I think I know why astrology has such tremendous appeal. The year and month and day you are born matters. The very moment you are born matters. This gives people a sense of their own value as persons that the church hasn't been giving them.'
"Now," he said, "you're cooking with gas."
(My note: the previous section was just background for these wonderful lines coming next that as Anne says "thrill my soul".)
To matter in the scheme of the cosmos: this is better theology than all our sociology. It is, in fact, all that God has promised to us: that we matter. That he cares." - from A Circle of Quiet by Madeiline L'Engle

Let me know what you think of my reading choices!

Another Tribute

Aunt Sue sent me what Uncle Rob read at the funeral so I thought I would post it up here in case other people wanted it as well.

Mom’s Eulogy

Romans 8-14-16 says, “As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For you have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but you have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.”

My parents have three biological daughters of their own, Marjory, Linda and Sandy. But in 1971, my father and mother felt the nudging of God in their hearts and the conviction of their minds to adopt two abandoned boys from Korea.

Now that I have four young boys of my own, I realize children do not appreciate their parents enough. Children only have one perspective of life and it’s through their own eyes. Children do not know the challenges and struggles their parents had to overcome. I was no different than my own children. But over the years, I know the sacrifices and unconditional love my father and mother showered upon their children.

My earliest memories of my mother were when my brother and I first came to America around the time I was five years old. Our family was on a summer church vacation. My mother was holding my small five year old hand and helping me walk up the stream in Fish Creek, NY. I also remember sitting on my mother’s lap while she read me Dr. Seuss books teaching me English. As I got older, my mother drove me to sports practices and came to all my games. She was not a person of many words but her actions supported everything we did. I never heard her complain about all the time she gave to us.

Roy Lessin once wrote in a poem called the The Impact of One Life, “When a stone is dropped into a lake, it quickly disappears from sight – but its impact leaves behind a series of ripples that broaden and reach across the water. In the same manner, the impact of one life lived for Christ will leave behind an influence for good that will reach the lives of many others.”

My mother left her impact on her husband, five children and eleven grandchildren and many others that she met throughout her life. While her earthly life consisted of 74 years, she now lives out an eternity that has no end. So while her physical body may no longer be among us, her spirit and soul is still alive. We know that she walks in the fullness of life that God has for her, fully healed.

Now when I look at my own wife and four boys, I see the fruits of my mother’s labor and love. By adopting my brother and me, my father and mother gave us a hope and a future. I see this hope and future is being passed down to my children and it will be passed down to my children’s children. Her legacy will continue for generation to come and my brother’s son and my boys will continue the Clark family name.

My mother accepted Jesus as her Savior and she has been adopted into God’s permanent family and welcomed home by her heavenly parents. The older I get, the more I realize how flawed I am emotionally, physically and spiritually. I look forward to the time when both my mother and I in our perfected minds and perfected bodies will walk hand in hand amidst the galaxies and I can thank her personally for all her sacrifices and tell her “I love you”.

A few more pics from VA...

Ceana-isn't she the most pathetic looking thing?

Typical Rori pose

The old hound doing what she does best

Mom, Aunt Linda, and all of the Snipes family dogs-Aurora, Lady, Caesar

She's so tiny!!

Lady in her favorite spot

Me and my beautiful cousin Sasha

The girls

Brandon, Uncle Bruce, and I right before he left for TN

Uncle Rob and I before he left for CA

Now you see where the daughter gets the good looks from :)

I tried to catch a hummingbird on the feeder at Baumpa's house. If you look closely, you can see it to the left.

In Loving Memory....

A few people requested that I post the "speech" that I read at Nana's funeral, so here it is. Don't forget to check out the pictures down below I posted of our family.




"My Nana was the person who taught me my letters, who took care of me after school, who painted my nails and made the best chocolate chip cookies ever. She took me on her Amway runs and made me sit for hours at the hairdresser. Her old house in NH was the place of my childhood. Christmases at Nana’s house will always be my standard of a wonderful holiday with a fire in the stove, large windows for watching the snow fall on a woodsy back yard, music playing softly in the background, and a big, beautiful tree decorated with the family ornaments. And for some reason, cardinals and Nana will always go together in my mind. This is a little of the grandmother I remember from my childhood, the details that have imprinted her on my memory, but it is nothing of the woman who married my grandfather and who raised five children, who taught school, who hoped, dreamed, planned, and lived. This is my only regret. I spent from my birth until eleven years old with her and I love those memories. But they are the memories of a child and I regret that I never got the chance to know her as one woman knows another, as I know my own mother. I wish I knew which movies were her favorite, what she liked to wear, the boys she dated, what made her laugh, what made her cry, the things she always wanted to do, the things that changed her, the advice she would have given me about my own life. I wish I could have asked her what it was like to love one man for fifty years or how she raised a family. I wish I knew what she would have thought of the person I have become. However, she gave me some gifts that are more precious than anything else in the world and which let me see her through the lives of others. She gave me my mother, the most wonderful gift that anyone could have given me. And she gave me my family, full of aunts, uncles, and cousins I never get to see enough. Through them, I catch glimpses of the woman I called my Nana. So now, I am just being patient until the day I get to find out all of the things about her I never got to know here. "

Family Time

Sasha, Cayli, Ryan

Yes, I have the cutest cousins ever

Look at those faces!

Two cutie-pies

Awww....

Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters (I love that movie :)

My Uncles, Bruce and Rob

Taylor, Aunt Linda, Alex

Sasha and Aunt Sandy

Brandon, Mom, Dad, and me

Some of the grandkids and Baumpa

The kids and their dad

Siblings

My Family
What a handsome bunch we clean up to be!

My first day as a TA....

So, this morning I had an email in my inbox letting me know that the papers I'm grading for the core philosophy class were waiting for me. That was quite possibly the absolute last thing I needed today-one more thing to do. I went over and picked them, opened the packet, and promptly had an attack of insecurity. "What the heck were these people thinking when they asked me to do this?!" kept repeating in my mind. Now there was some basis for these sudden feelings of incompetence since I am the only underclassman grading papers in the philosophy department. Everyone else is of senior standing or is a grad student. Anyway, I took some deep breaths and met with the professor I'm working for (who also happens to be one of my advisors) and he answered some of my questions which calmed me down a bit. Back in my room, I took a look at the one on top, read the first two paragraphs and laughed. That was probably the wrong reaction to a student's hard work but when I see large blocks of scripture being quoted in a philosophical paper it evokes laughter in me. It's the typical good Christian student reaction to deep questions and is entirely NOT what the professor is looking for (at least in this particular class). Suddenly I knew I was capable of at least grading this paper and I set to work. It was surprisingly enjoyable. I was a bit slow since it was my first one but I labored through and felt a little more confident at the end. The student ended up with a 70% but it's only a rough draft so I don't feel bad at all. I guess I may end up being a bit of a tough grader. :) Two of the other papers I actually know the students a little so it could be intersting to see how well they do in philosophy. So far, at least when it comes to the grading part, I think I will enjoy being a TA. Of course, there is still the part where you have to deal with the disgruntled students who want to know why you gave their brilliant piece of writing such a shockingly low grade, but thankfully that percentage is usually pretty low. Most of them don't want to see you at all! One paper down and four more to go by Monday. (Yes, I know that is a pathetically small amount, but, hey, I've never done this before.)

Labor Day Weekend

Sorry this was so late getting here, but hopefully the amount of pictures makes up for it!

Ali's field hockey game and my first time watching one

Steph, Kimmy, Mrs. Vigneau, and the top of Chris's head

There's Chris, he's a freshman at Gordon

My beautiful Mommy!!

Aren't we cute? :)

Ali, #20

The sunset I tried to capture but failed

The team in action

I like this one.

The turf

Steph came home with me for the long weekend. We were diligently doing homework on a Saturday afternoon. We're such good students.

Holly, the old hound who can twist her body into the most uncanny positions

The puppies wrestling

I brushed her and she didn't even notice...just kept on sleeping

At Fort Foster on Sunday, Ceana wanted to hold hands with Mom, haha

Just hanging

It was wicked windy so we had to wear sweatshirts

Steph nappin'

Yep, that's Rori sleeping with her nose in the cup holder...that about says it all

Sleeping doggies

The Fentons and the Archibalds were there too, so Katrina and Rachel came to visit us

My bed after Scott and I had a wrestling match to put it on risers (is that a word??)

My new shelf...really exciting, I know

Our new rug! The room is actually starting to look cozy.

So, the night we went back (Labor Day) Steph suggested we go swimming in Gull Pond at night
even though it is not exactly, uh, allowed ;)

Our pile of stuff that we left Ali to guard since she didn't want to swim

It was freezing!! It took me forever to go under.

The stars were incredible with no lights around at all and it was so silent (well, except for our periodic screams of "it's cold!")

Come get in the picture, Marissa!

Steph, Me, Melody, Marissa

Definitely way more fun than homework!

Steph trying to warm Ali up, lol

Roomies!!